


on horns and blowing, or, freud was right

by srmarybadass



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: M/M, excessive use of a vuvuzela, stealthy reference to "District 9"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the prompt: Murdock/vuvuzela. Bonus for it becoming Hannibal/Murdock/vuvuzela. Dirty porn+football+obnoxious South African horns= magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on horns and blowing, or, freud was right

Nobody had any idea how he had gotten his hands on it. Nobody had any idea Murdock even _watched_ soccer. But one thing they knew for certain -- if it didn't stop soon, someone would die a fearsome and bloody death.

"Hannibal," Face whispered, voice broken. "You've gotta make it stop. Please..." His eyes were disturbingly out-of-focus.

"I'm gonna beat that crazy fool to death with that fucking horn," BA growled, eyelid twitching unnervingly.

_BVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV_ , came the sound from the den.

"Murdock!" Face yelped. "Please, please, _please shut up with the fucking horn!_ "

"It's called a vuvuzela, and it's a piece of cultural history!" Murdock shouted back. "Oooh! Another goal!" _BVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV!_

Hannibal sighed. He didn't mind the horn-blowing too much -- once you got stuck in the middle of a couple dozen firefights, anything else was a soothing sound -- but clearly, it was up to him once more to preserve the peace in their household. Besides, if he kept blowing that damn horn at that volume, someone was bound to call the police. 

"All right, all right," he grumbled good-naturedly. "I'll take care of it."

"Make it quick," Face choked.

"Make it _permanent_ ," BA added.

Hannibal gave them a salute and walked into the den, closing the door quietly behind him. Murdock was on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as a soccer match played on. Hannibal knew it had to be the World Cup, but it just wasn't his game, so he really had no idea what was going on. He vaguely remembered, from high school gym class, that hands weren't supposed to touch the balls. 

_BVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV!_

Hannibal covered his ears until that particular sound-blast was over. He sidled over to the couch and slid in next to Murdock.

"So...is your team winning?" Hannibal inquired.

Murdock nodded happily. The long red horn was still clutched tightly to his lips, just waiting for the signal from the television. Hannibal could appreciate the phallic symbolism. Hell, what with the cigars and all, he was pretty much king of the phallic symbolism.

"Nice vuvuzela," Hannibal said.

Murdock finally inched away from the mouthpiece enough to reply. "Her name is Lucy. I got her from South Africa."

"Wow," Hannibal commented, and indeed, he was impressed. "That had to be tough. Did you order her online?"

"Of course not. My clone sent her to me."

Hannibal decided he didn't even want to contemplate that one.

"Face and BA don't like Lucy," Murdock said sadly, eyes downcast.

"Clearly, they don't appreciate the long-standing cultural traditions and ties between the South African way of life and soc- I mean, football."

Murdock actually lowered the vuvuzela to his lap and stared at Hannibal in shock and wonder. "You...you _understand._ "

Hannibal nodded as sagely as he could. "I like to think I do." He relaxed, slouching into the couch slightly and spreading his legs in a highly casual matter. He noticed Murdock noticing, though, and he grinned to himself. 

"Have you always enjoyed football?" Hannibal asked conversationally. 

"Ever since the octopus," Murdock replied.

Hannibal stretched his arms across the back of the couch, one hand coming to rest at the nape of Murdock's neck. He slipped his fingers just beneath the collar of his pilot's shirt, feeling Murdock jump slightly and tense up. God, his skin was warm. And soft.

Hannibal kept his outward cool, although inward he was heating up. "I rather like the horn," he commented.

Murdock grinned hopefully. "You do?"

Hannibal nodded. "There's just something about seeing your lips wrapped around that long red shaft...I don't know, it just _does_ something for me." He dug his fingers into Murdock's neck slightly, and could hear Murdock's breath quickening over the buzz of the television. "Although I can think of another shaft I'd like to see your lips wrapped around." Hannibal lifted his hips slightly, just in case Murdock didn't get the point.

"Did you just pelvic thrust at me?" Murdock checked.

"Little bit," Hannibal confirmed.

Murdock's eyes darted from the championship game on the television to his beloved vuvuzela to Hannibal, splayed across the couch in an almost wanton and definitely indecent manner, and back again. His eyeballs completed the circuit a few more times before settling on Hannibal. His gaze filled with lust.

Hannibal knew he had won. And now he was going to enjoy the spoils of victory. He was going to enjoy them very, very much.

"C'mere," he growled, tugging Murdock closer. Murdock all but leaped into his lap, and Hannibal quickly caught him in a passionate kiss. His lips, Hannibal noticed, were already slightly swollen, probably from blowing the damn horn. The thought turned him on even more, and he rolled his hips against Murdock, hoping to point out how urgently he really needed Murdock's talented mouth right then.

Murdock, fortunately, caught on quickly.

"Let me help you out there, sir," he whispered directly into Hannibal's ear, hot breath ghosting across skin. Hannibal shivered. 

Murdock slid down Hannibal's chest, off the couch, and onto his knees, managing to rub against almost every inch of Hannibal's body in the process. Once he was settled comfortably between Hannibal's legs, he went about unbuckling Hannibal's belt with dexterous fingers and unzipping his zipper _with his teeth._

Hannibal groaned, both at that sight and at the sensation of his erection being freed from its denim prison.

"Commando, commander?" Murock asked, faking surprise. "Well, I do declare. You have offended my delicate sensibilities."

" _Murdock....."_

"Yessir."

With that, Murdock lowered his head and ran his tongue along the length of Hannibal's cock, sliding along the underside before sucking the head into his mouth. Hannibal's fingers dug into the sofa cushions as he suppressed the urge to thrust wildly into the wonderful wet heat. Murdock looked up, and the two locked eyes for a long moment before Murdock winked -- actually _winked_ \-- at him and took Hannibal's entire length into his mouth in one smooth motion.

" _Fuck!_ " Hannibal hissed, hands grabbing at Murdock's hair of their own accord. The tugging just spurred Murdock on more, and he chuckled, the vibrations in his throat running up Hannibal's whole body, sending sparks rushing under his skin. He shuddered and looked down at the delicious sight of Murdock, on his knees, swollen and red lips wrapped completely around Hannibal's cock. It was a sight he never got tired of.

As if he could sense Hannibal looking at him, Murdock looked up, eyes wide and mouth busy. This time, when their eyes locked, it proved to be too much for Hannibal, and he came with a choked moan, vision whiting out as he watched Murdock's throat bob as he swallowed.

When he could open his eyes and function again, Murdock was curled around his side, eyes glued to the screen and dick quite obviously hard.

"Hannibal! Hannibal!" he yelped as a roar came from the television. "They scored! They _won!_ "

"Your team?" Hannibal asked, voice hoarse.

Murdock nodded wildly, reaching for the horn, but Hannibal grabbed his wrists, grinning like a wolf.

"Let me show you what I like to blow in celebration...."


End file.
